Out of the Ashes
by Word-Stringer
Summary: A three shot of small chapters; a prologue, a supposed death, and an epilogue set ten years later. Canon!AU - set before series two.
1. Magic on His Final Night

**Title: **Out of the Ashes  
**Author(s):** Word-Stringer  
**Characters;Pairings:** Merlin, Arthur, Uther, Gaius, Morgana, Guinevere, Lancelot, Percival, Gwaine, Elyan, Leon; Arthur/Gwen  
**Rating:** K+/PG  
**Genre:** Angst/Tragedy  
**Summary:** A three shot of small chapters: a prologue, a supposed death and an epilogue.  
**Warnings:** Supposed major character death  
**Beta(s): **N/A

* * *

_I: __Magic on His Final Night_

_Magic, having danced through his fingertips in temporary freedom, seals his fate._

A dark cell. Damp, cold, much like all dungeons. Unfathomable dripping noises coming from black corners that seemed able to hold all manner of darkness and writhing shadows.

A young man is curled up in the farthest corner of the cell. His black hair blends in, and the only way he is visible is his pale skin – it glows slightly in the gloom.

The guards stay away from him; they are scared of the vulnerable form who is chained up inside. They don't see the tear stained face; they see the eyes that, they judge, must have evil within them. They don't see the shuddering fear; they see the power he used before. They didn't see him save their prince's life; they saw him kill someone else. They deny the goodness they'd seen before; they see only magic, they see only evil.

He watches them silently, seeing their shifting eyes, the awkward, alert way they hold themselves. They don't try and hurt him, unlike most sorcerers – maybe, on some unconscious level, they know he isn't evil. Maybe they don't to show respect to the prince, who is being restrained to his chambers. Maybe they're just _too scared._ In any case, neither of the imprisoned nor the people who keep him there speak, as Merlin counts down the hours of his final night.

As the moon rises, light finally enters the dark. He remembers his mother telling him that bringing light into a room is bad. She had said that light gave a chance for shadows, places to hide. But when you are in the dark, you can see, a little bit. He wishes the moon would leave again.

A cloud passes over it, and remains. He makes sure of it. Magic on his final night.

* * *

_Because happiness only lasts so long,_


	2. Taking Dreams With Him

_II: __Taking Dreams With Him_

_And out of the ashes, shall rise the magic, left behind. But, for once, the vessel rises with it._

Guards on either side. They are of higher calibre then those used for ordinary sorcerers. Uther is wary – this sorcerer has been parading around Camelot for more than a year and in the position of manservant under the prince too. Who knows what he could have picked up?

Arthur, Gaius, Morgana, and her maid are on his balcony too. He has had guards placed around them, ready for restraint. They know the threat – they cannot act.

All six watch as Merlin is bought closer to his fate. A funeral pyre, used only for the alive.

They watch with stony faces, but Uther is not looking at them. He does not see the accusations coming from _all _gathered in the courtyard. He thinks he is doing well – saving Camelot again by chasing out evil. He does not know how he is damning himself.

* * *

The sky is blue. Merlin makes sure of that again. The sun is shining, but a nice breeze combats the heat that would have beat down on them. His favourite weather. Had he not been realised, Arthur might've forced him to go hunting.

Had he not been realised. There is no point wishing – he knows he will die today.

_Merlin – killed by his King._

Of course, Uther had never really been his King – that was, and always would be Arthur. Whether he lived long enough to ascend to the throne or not.

Merlin hopes he will. He hopes his death is enough to prove to Arthur that magic is not evil but _is, _that he does become the great king he is destined to be, and returns magic to a land that has almost forgotten it.

He tunes out Uther's speech – they are not words he wishes to hear. He waits to see if he is given a chance to speak. He is.

All he does is bow, and say the words, "My King." No one misses that it is to Arthur, not his father, and everyone sees the nod of acknowledgment and the barely concealed tears. Even Uther notices, but he pretends the opposite. Instead he brings his hand down, signalling death.

The fire is lit. It burns. The smoke rises. It burns.

* * *

It burns all the way through, and Arthur finally realises there is no hope – that there never was. The crowd disperse as a sign of respect, and no one is there to listen to Uther's closing speech – he doesn't try, and pretends it is a choice on his behalf.

As the final embers smoulder, Arthur watches them.

And sees them move.

His eyes widen..._ it's impossible_, he tells himself._ Don't contemplate it. It will only hurt more._

But he stares transfixed as they dance, swirling. They take a form, one he can barely see, but recognises easily – a bird, of some sort.

It takes to the air, out of the ashes, and he is stunned to see it grow. As the first people see it, they point with wonder clear in their eyes, hoping it isn't a dream. When it lets out a squawk, it bursts into fire. Uther turns around and stares at it in horror. It looks back at him, then looks straight at Arthur. Its eyes are Merlin's, when he uses magic.

_I'm sorry._

He flies away, taking dreams with him.

* * *

_but hope always returns, _


	3. He Has Returned Home

_III: __He Has Returned Home_

_And the magic has returned upon the realm of a golden King, whose name will be spoken for centuries._

Ten years have passed; seven since his coronation – on the anniversary, coincidently; five since he brought back magic. All of them spent waiting for the ghost of a man.

Gaius tries to convince him otherwise – he says it was merely Merlin's magic, finding an outlet in his death, not Merlin himself.

The rumours of a fiery bird, he claimed, were just people who heard about Merlin's death and played with the story.

Merlin wasn't back, he had concluded, and Arthur must get on with his life.

Arthur had pretended to listen, pretended to agree – although, judging by his expression, Gaius hadn't believed him. But he had walked away, slowly, without another word.

Arthur still listens to the stories of a black haired wizard who healed wherever he went – especially those by the Druids, as they were the most trustworthy. He hears tales of destiny, tells himself that Merlin will return to his side, as he is meant to. Tells himself it is but a matter of time.

It is.

* * *

_Only a matter of time, _Merlin thinks hopefully. He is on the hill overlooking Camelot. It doesn't _look _different from this far away, but he can feel the changes – magic and goodness surrounding it in the golden age of King Arthur.

He sighs in relief; he has missed his home. During his travels, he realised just how much the castle means. He watched over it every night, and was so proud during Arthur's coronation – he still wishes he had been there.

He had watched as first Lancelot returned bringing a friend, Percival, then Gwaine, and Elyan, and all four were knighted before a day had gone of their arrival. He saw as the old ways were replaced with the new, and the Old Religion had returned. Magic was allowed; the law had been lifted. And Gwen and Arthur had finally had their happy ending, Gwen being announced as Queen, their child being born with no complications.

He can't wait to get back and see them all. He hopes Arthur will forgive his long absence, for letting him think he is dead.

To this day he doesn't know how he escaped. He stopped questioning it soon. He doesn't know that his existence is vital to the Old Religion, that it saved him to save himself.

He is in the forest now. He wonders if he should pull up his hood, try and look impressive. But no, he decides; he should return to Camelot as Merlin.

The guards at the gate stop him - a sign of the amazing security Arthur would ensure; it is not like the old days – but wave him on after seeing his face. They have watched him die, watched him fly and heard the rumours. Their eyes shine with an awe he sees from all who recognise him.

He makes his way to the castle, ignoring the pointing fingers and wondering stares.

_Merlin! Emrys!_

The message flies through mind and voice.

_He's alive! He's returned!_

He is surprised by the intensity of the happiness. He waves at those he recognises; almost all of the residents, apart from the new comers and children, as he was well known for his joy, even more so after his death and rebirth. He is smiling again in a way he has not for a decade.

_Tell the King! Merlin's here!_

He continues on his way, unfazed, until he sees Arthur, standing on the steps, waiting for him, wearing a crown that represented the Kingdom. He is surrounded by Gwen, their child in her arms, Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, Leon, and Gaius. They have all gathered to meet him, Arthur's Round Table, which, he knew, would be spoken about reverently for centuries to come.

"Merlin," the King choked.

"Arthur."

He has returned home, finally.

* * *

_and happiness will follow after. _

* * *

_So there you go – my first multi chaptered story to be published in one shot. I'd still appreciate it if you review each chapter though – please do. Especially for critic._

_And that whole 'Merlin being vital' thing –sort of a small explanation as to why the Old Religion didn't survive, because Merlin didn't (or his soul's meant to be trapped in a tree, apparently.)_

_And no, Morgana is not in Camelot. She is at the Isle of the Blessed, training her powers. When she returns, she becomes Court Seer, and helps Merlin with his job as Court Warlock._


End file.
